


tumblr fic 2016

by aweekofsaturdays



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra, Black Sails, Teen Wolf (TV), White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Punk, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Anal Sex, Boxing, Breakfast, Cuckolding, Depression, Diners, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/F, Femslash, Flower Crowns, Food, Functional Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, Injury, Intimacy, Kissing, Light Angst, Light BDSM, Lingerie, M/M, Masturbation, Morning Sex, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Pancakes, Pre-Slash, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, Road Trips, Semi-Public Sex, Sharing a Bed, Skateboarding, Stoner Girlfriends, Stoner Scott McCall, Stoner Stiles Stilinski, Suits, marking kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-08-20 11:19:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 8,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8246920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aweekofsaturdays/pseuds/aweekofsaturdays
Summary: a collection of ficlets posted to my tumblr in 2016





	1. Scott/Stiles, Stoner bfs 5 - morning sex, E

**Author's Note:**

> All characters are of legal age. Comments & thoughts & stuff = <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a follow up to [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7987765/chapters/18280546).

They sleep wound together like sleepy puppies, worn out by a day’s hard adventuring, hands tangled in each others’ clothes. Stiles breathes through his nose and smacks his lips sometimes in his sleep, and periodically Scott noses closer to Stiles’ neck in his sleep and then relaxes, breathing in Stiles’ smell and sinking back into dreams. 

The sun rises slowly, the light honey-thick and pouring golden across their bodies. Scott wakes first, and he stays so, so still– he doesn’t want to move, because when he does, Stiles will– but Stiles is already waking up, eyes fluttering as he flexes and stretches. 

Scott nuzzles closer, tugging Stiles close as they stretch their gangly limbs; kisses the hollow at the base of Stiles’ neck and licks a mark there. Stiles scritches a hand through Scott’s hair, pressing his hips closer; Scott can feel him, warm and a little sticky and getting firmer against their thighs. 

Scott reaches a hand down to align their hips more closely, touching the damp head of Stiles’ dick ever so lightly, a brush hello and Stiles _gasps_ , twitches a little, snuggles closer. Scott presses a sticky kiss to Stiles’ lips and pulls back enough to ask, “You wanna smoke?” The resulting sleepy grin speaks volumes and he rolls Stiles over onto his back, settling on top of him and grabbing the pretty purple pipe they’d left out. There’s about half a bowl left and Scott sits back to take a deep hit, and Stiles _squeaks_ as his dick settles firmly between Scott’s cheeks, rubbing just a little, just enough to feel the heat of them building. 

Scott leans forward, lungs full, and they share a messy, slick kiss, smoke pooling between them as Stiles breathes in. Scott leans back again, moving so, so slowly to rub against the hard line of Stiles’ dick, and Stiles exhales, eyes huge and unblinking as he just watches Scott’s hips and feels the head of his dick catch on Scott’s hole. Scott takes another hit and he doesn’t stop moving and Stiles thinks deliriously that he’s never felt this _present_ in a particular moment before, this is it for him, this is all life is supposed to be– 

And Scott sits down a little, the head of Stiles’ dick just barely in him. Stiles feels like his eyes are rolling back in his head and Scott is leaning down to offer his mouth and Stiles takes it, breathes in smoke and Scott and breathes out a sound like he’s being fucked to within an inch of his life and he _is_ , Scott’s undoing him just with this.

Unexpectedly, Scott is momentarily further away and Stiles opens his eyes in confusion– but Scott is just getting lube, grins down at him so sweetly, pets his face and through his hair with the non-lubed hand, presses kisses to his eyelids and his lips. Stiles feels the cold slide of Scott’s hand on his dick and then Scott’s working his hand down, trying to get a good angle - he sits up on his knees and reaches behind himself and when his eyes close just a little Stiles thinks he’s gonna die with how much he wants to be inside Scott, and he’s so in awe every fucking time because Scott is so fucking beautiful.

Stiles sits up to clutch at Scott’s hips where he’s kneeling and suck biting kisses into Scott’s torso, wants to leave teeth marks and bruises everywhere, wants to _claim_ Scott. He reaches back to touch where Scott’s desperately working two fingers into himself, and Stiles doesn’t know when everything got so urgent but he needs to be inside Scott _now_. “You ok with staying on top?” he asks breathlessly, and Scott grins and kisses him. “Sure, yeah, let’s do this.”

Scott holds out the pipe and Stiles fumbles for a lighter and sparks it; Scott pulls in a last hit and holds it, smiling like the fucking sunshine, and Stiles aligns Scott over his dick and braces with a hand as he eases his dick in, excruciatingly slowly. Scott leans in to kiss Stiles and Stiles thinks he’s going to pass out, because the tight clutch at his dick and the smoke in his lungs and Scott all around him and through him is _so much_ , he thinks he’s going to die– but Scott is leaning back and sinking down and groaning, and Stiles thinks he’s never seen anything so beautiful in his entire fucking life. 

Scott works up to a good rhythm, closing his eyes and bracing himself on Stiles’ stomach and he works himself up and down, and Stiles doesn’t know how long he lies there, hips jerking up every time Scott sinks back down and their breaths gasping out of sync. If Scott bruised, he’d have fingerprints deep in each hip, and as their rhythm gets more frantic Scott slumps forward, shivering and moaning, just a little, as his ass tightens around Stiles’ dick and he spurts weakly up Stiles’ chest. He shudders and grabs for Stiles’ shoulders, flipping them over and _shoving_ Stiles back into him, gasps out a “come on, babe, come in me like I came in you, come on, give it to me” and Stiles isn’t even sure which way is up anymore when he clenches up and comes, slow and rolling and tingling out to the edges of his fingers and up through his middle.

Stiles slumps there for a moment, just tugging back and forth a little with his hips, feeling the slick slide against his dick as Scott just pants damply beneath him. He pulls out slowly, shoving back blankets so he can watch when his dick tugs free, dripping a little. He rubs at Scott’s hole just for a moment before Scott is whining and tugging him down, wrapping around him like an octopus so they’re face to face, kicking each other to get the right leg configuration. 

“Dude, you’re gonna get jizz everywhere,” Stiles protests and Scott just chomps on his ear affectionately, kissing his face and rubbing his fingers against Stiles’ scalp. Stiles relaxes with a grumble and Scott murmurs against his ear, “We won’t make a mess if you clean me up..”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previous stoner bfs [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7987765/navigate).


	2. Scott/Stiles, Stoner bfs 6 - socal road trip, T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have a deep love for Santa Monica+Venice, CA <3

They sit on a stone bench, looking out into the water and holding hands, knees poking out of torn jeans and tucked against each other. Stiles’ hands are rougher and he’s terrible at rolling, always tearing the thin paper in his haste. Scott is slower, more methodical - he once rolled them twenty and they spent a school vacation smoking through them, wandering out to the preserve or down to the ice cream store for enormous sundaes like when they were kids.

They had decided they needed a real break and driven down south for a week during the early summer, winding their way along the coast and stopping to make out at some of the famous scenic points along highway 101. The drive isn’t really that long but they make it last over a day or two, and sleep in the back of the jeep curled together.

They made it to Santa Monica in late morning, grabbing brunch and enormous cups of sweet “chocolate coffee nonsense beverages,” as Stiles solemnly dubbed them. They drove further to Venice, and the afternoon finds them blinking against the bright metallic sheen of the ramps along the beach as the watch the local skaters twist and jump. Stiles curls into Scott to light up a joint, tasting the paper and the resin against his lips, the feel of a sticky kiss when Scott ducks in.

They stay for hours, and the day lasts forever - they pick up pupusas in a tiny tucked away hole in the wall and sit on the sunwarmed pavement to stuff their faces and fan their burning mouths.

The sun’ll go down soon, but Scott reels Stiles in for lazy, sweet kisses, traded slowly, in a haze, and there doesn’t seem to be any reason to go anywhere for now.


	3. Scott/Stiles, Stoner bfs 7 - sad days (bonus stoner!Allydia), M

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (depression cw)

Sometimes one or the other of them has a day where they wake up and nothing is objectively wrong but…they’re just sad. Stiles lies in bed for hours and stares at the ceiling, spinning out inside his mind. Scott goes through the motions but everyone notices something is off, because he’s terrible at hiding his emotions; the kittens at the vet clinic cuddle that much closer and the dogs look up at him with liquid eyes, unsure what to do.

When these days come, whether it’s one or both of them feeling this way at the same time, they know by now that the best thing to do is to cuddle up at home or at the park, watch something outside of themselves, experience a little bit of the world that’s outside the senselessness of their sadness. 

Scott rolls them pretty blunts using his favorite paper, wears his softest sweaters so that he and Stiles feel like they have an extra layer of something cuddling them at all times. Stiles always slings his arm protectively over Scott’s shoulders, is never not touching him. The warm asphalt below them, they hold each other loosely and watch Allison practice her ollies at the park, watch Lydia next to them watching her with avid eyes. Every so often Lydia accepts a hit, when Scott offers– she likes the peach papers too and she leans against Scott’s back as she breathes the smoke in, slow and idle, lounging like a jungle cat. With her cheek pressed against his back, she can feel his heart beating. 

At night, the boys rewatch Hackers and Mean Girls and laugh, chasing away nightmares with the rest of the brownies they made, pressing thumbs into the corners of each others’ mouths when they kiss, let go into the haze winding through their bodies. They almost never do anything when they get like this besides rub against each other idly, slowly, petting each other and murmuring, getting off in quiet shivers as they fall into it, almost surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes, my dirty skater love, and also my love of neurodivergent+functional relationships. These boys (& girls) I s2g.
> 
> Stoner bfs 8 is [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6322033/chapters/18570928), I just didn't want to post it twice.


	4. Derek/Scott + relationship struggles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My tumblr peeps [made things terrible](http://queerlylonnie.tumblr.com/post/139570150756/elfysparkles88-demigirlisaaclahey-queerlyalex) so I tried to make it better T_T (these poor boys just LET THEM LOVE EACH OTHER)

It’s cold but it’s almost Thanksgiving, and even before they started fighting they bought tickets home, so they go home, the long plane ride passing in silence as Scott naps and Derek reads.

Fast forward to Thanksgiving dinner, Melissa corners Derek during dessert (asks him to help her get the pies) because she can tell something is wrong, they’ve been so stilted and awkward, and instead of scolding him like he’d been worried she would, she just HUGS him, and he just feels like he’s never been hugged before in his life that’s how upset he is by this single Mama McCall hug and how much it shakes him up. When he pulls away he doesn’t even try to hide that he has to wipe his eyes but she does too and she just looks at him and says in that way of hers, “you’ll figure it out, sweetheart.”

Later while everyone is cleaning up and heading to bed, Melissa and Scott get a moment together, and he asks her if she knew it was gonna go bad with his dad before it did, if she ever had that sinking pit in her stomach when everything seemed so messed up and she couldn’t fix it. She hurts for him because he’s her baby but she smiles at him (of course after confirming that their troubles are of the talking variety and not the Scott’s dad variety) and says no, because if it was protecting Scott or staying with his dad there was literally no question. And also - because what Scott and Derek are feeling are growing pains of a relationship that’s changing as they get older and have to evolve together, and if it was meant to end it would have at some point throughout all the trials they’ve been thru already.

Scott cries because he’s not used to having a choice, he’s so used to living reactively that having this kind of agency over his own life and happiness is kind of shocking?? And Melissa hugs him, he gets his hug, and he feels just a little bit better because she believes in him so much. So when Scott heads upstairs and crawls into the guest bed next to Derek they kinda look at each other for a minute before they just cuddle up against each other, Scott’s face smooshed against Derek’s chest and Derek’s face buried in Scott’s hair and both of them taking deep lungfuls of air, just breathing each other in.

“I believe in us,” Derek finds himself whispering into Scott’s hair and feels the rumble of “Me too” against his chest.

In the morning they wake up on opposite sides of the bed but Scott stretches out an arm and Derek rolls in close, grateful for family and comfort and home, and they both try not to think too much about the future, trusting themselves to work through it as they can, because they want to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: NO YOU JERKS IM FIXING IT


	5. Allison/Lydia + gymnophoria (pre-slash)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gymnophoria - The sensation that someone is mentally undressing you.

Allison can’t remember the last time she touched herself thinking of someone besides Lydia. There was just so much…material there, waiting for her to interpret and re-interpret, so many gestures and looks and lips shyly bitten. Sometimes Allison suspects there might be something to it, but to be honest, she isn’t ready for what it might mean.

She knows that she should be subtle, knows it’s only a matter of time before Lydia catches her eyeing the dip of her sweater or the curve of her back as she bends to pick something up. Allison imagines herself pressing Lydia up against her locker, smoothing her hands down over the back of Lydia’s impeccably tailored skirt, drawing her in tightly for a kiss they should probably get in trouble for, licking into her mouth slowly. Sometimes she fantasizes about bringing Lydia off right there, moaning and panting in the hallway, praying for the bell not to ring to let everyone out of class before they can fumble their clothes together into some semblance of decency. 

When they study together, there’s a laziness to their motions, lounging on Allison’s bed. Allison loves it and hates it, because she has to lie there, squeezing her legs together for relief, watching Lydia come undone the way one does when one’s relaxed and supine. Allison wants to slide her hands up those long legs, grasping and firm, and shove Lydia down underneath her, hair rumpled and gleaming golden-red in the late-afternoon sunlight.

They study sometimes at Lydia’s house, there amidst all of Lydia’s belongings, her perfume and her clothes and the blanket she curls up in before she goes to bed; it smells like her and Allison aches for her, can’t wait until later, gets off shamefully in Lydia’s bathroom with her own hand clamped tight over her mouth, praying that she doesn’t look too flushed or guilty when she comes out.

On days like that, Allison goes home at night and presses her fingers against herself so sweetly under the covers, makes herself shiver with thoughts unwinding dark and slow; she comes with a whimper under her blankets, so dark and warm where it’s just her and her secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr](http://aweekofsaturdays.tumblr.com/post/139585346392/gymnophoria-tw-femslash-ship-of-your-choice)


	6. Derek/Scott + undressing kink, E

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> queerlylonnie asked: ugh someone write me fic where sub Scott gets to undress Derek in a three piece suit because he’s been good
> 
> (undressing kink, D/s, orgasm control)

They head home in the twilight, weaving together in and out, their shoulders broad in their suit jackets. Scott’s blushy and giggling, shouldering at Derek a little while they walk, just to knock him off balance. Derek keeps his hands in his pockets but he’s got that grin, that one that says he’s getting just the right kind of annoyed, getting riled up as Scott teases him. 

When they make it in the front door, Scott doesn’t get a word out before Derek shoves him back against the wall and kisses him deeply, licking into his mouth like he’s starving. Scott melts, twining his arms around Derek’s neck as he’s picked up, ass cupped in Derek’s big hands.

Scott squirms, trying not to rip the suit pants Lydia had picked out. “Come on,” he says a little desperately, “Derek, come _on_ ,” and Derek sets him down reluctantly, swatting at his butt and pressing up behind him as they make their way to their bedroom. 

Scott can feel the thick ridge of Derek’s cock pressed up against him and then he’s being unceremoniously turned around and stripped, shoved onto the bed and held down as Derek slinks up his body. Derek’s kicked off his shoes but he’s still in the damn suit, tie loosened but vest buttoned primly. 

“Stay still for me, sweetheart,” Derek murmurs, and Scott whimpers his assent, his hands splayed out by his head, legs spread shamelessly. Derek looks him up and down, gaze lingering, and Scott closes his eyes; it’s too much, Derek _looking_ at him like he’s something precious and like he wants to eat him up at the same time. 

Scott opens his eyes as Derek looks up to his face and is briefly shocked, Derek’s eyes gleaming alpha-red. Scott’s eyes flash, briefly, and the tension between them ratchets up, but then Scott lets out the breath he’d been holding and his eyes sink back into warm brown, his wolf is content to be tended to tonight instead of standing guard. He tilts his head back in submission, showing the long lines of his throat to Derek, and his eyelashes brush against his cheek, long and lush. Derek nuzzles at his throat then, nipping lightly. 

Derek is suddenly gone from above him, and Scott opens his eyes to Derek standing next to the bed, still in that damn suit, eyes twinkling. Scott realizes he hasn’t moved, is as still as if Derek had tied him there, to the headboard of their bed. 

“Help me take this off,” Derek says, gesturing to himself, “Since you’ve been so patient with me.” Scott scoots forward, takes his time unbuttoning the vest, pushing the shirt off Derek’s shoulders reverently, pressing a stolen kiss to the crinkly hair on Derek’s belly as they push his pants down and off.

Derek always looks stronger naked, somehow, while Scott always feels like layers of himself have been stripped away, leaving him vulnerable here; he loves it when Derek does what he’s doing now, putting Scott where he wants him, taking control here so he can give it up when they’re outside the bedroom, deferring then to Scott to keep their lives together. 

But here, Derek is boss, and Scott _loves_ it. Derek manhandles him over again on top of a pillow, and Scott gets the rimjob of his life, squirming and shivering as Derek takes him apart and licks him open, scratching blunt nails down his back. Derek whispers to him how good he’s being, how patient and kind he is to let Derek do this, to let Derek worship him like he deserves. Scott whines and Derek whispers “go ahead,” so Scott lets go and shivers into an orgasm there against the pillowcase, clenching tightly on two of Derek’s fingers inside him as his body shakes. 

He’s loose and fucked out when Derek lies down on top of him, kissing the back of his neck, nosing through his hair and nipping gently at his shoulders. Scott edges his legs apart a little, feeling the hard line of Derek’s cock against him, no clothing between them this time, and tilts his hips back. 

“You sure?” Derek asks, “because I don’t need–”

“Come on, dude, I want it. I wanna make you feel good, want to feel your come in me, marking me up from the inside,” Scott moans, and his face goes hot from his words, and he's tilting his hips back again, rubbing at where Derek’s so close, feeling the head of his cock just catch on his rim. Derek groans, kneeling up and tugging Scott’s hips up off the bed so he can press his cock in slowly, slicked by a handful of Scott’s come, feeding it in inch by inch until he’s seated so deeply Scott thinks he can taste it.

Scott’s not going to come again but he feels so good, loves this achy, overstimulated feeling as Derek takes his time, thrusts into him steadily, feeling the sparks of it down to his toes. Derek doesn’t last long before he curls down over Scott’s back and grabs his hair, yanking him back and up as Derek’s hips stutter, rhythm failing as he gets closer to the edge. They’re pressed together again, Derek’s arm wrapped around his chest and his hand on Scott’s heart, and Scott can feel it when Derek gives in and comes, twitching and moaning, pressing his hot face into Scott’s shoulder as he rides it out. 

They recover slowly, breathing each other in and nuzzling closer. Scott’s the one who eventually untangles himself to go get a washcloth and clean up, Derek stretching and lounging like a giant cat; as Scott returns, dropping a kiss on Derek’s lips, he grins like sunshine, and Derek just looks at him like he’s everything he’s ever wanted or needed, there in their bedroom with their clothes strewn haphazardly everywhere. They’ll clean up in the morning, they agree, and they trade sleepy kisses as they nod off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot of feelings about dual-alpha Scott-dominant McCall-Hale combo pack OK T_T
> 
> [on tumblr](http://aweekofsaturdays.tumblr.com/post/139956989887/demigirlisaaclahey-ugh-someone-write-me-fic)


	7. Scott/Stiles, Stoner bfs 9 - rainy afternoons, E

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> straight up rainy day porn.
> 
> (stoner bfs 8 is [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6322033/chapters/18570928), I just didn't want to post it twice.)

Scott’s favorite thing on a rainy afternoon is this big, awesome, snuggly blanket he has - well, second favorite. First favorite is naked Stiles, _in_ the big, awesome, snuggly blanket. It’s been raining all day, and they’ve come in from skating; of course they’re muddy and cold and so they shower and cuddle up to smoke joint after joint, letting the smoke trickle out of the cracked window of Scott’s bedroom. 

It gets sweaty in the blanket and they kick it off, giggling, Scott lying back on the bed and stretching, his tattoo standing out starkly against the blue of the bedding. Stiles flops on top of him, inevitably, nosing mischievously into his neck, grinding his hips down suggestively, and they both shiver at the friction. 

Scott groans and complains half-heartedly about their sticky skin but digs his hands into Stiles’ hair, tugging him back to kiss his pale neck, suck a bruise there. Scott loves the buzzcut, will always love how wild and delicate it made Stiles look, but there’s something about this longer hair, being able to tug it and direct Stiles where he wants him. 

At this moment, Scott particularly wants Stiles’ hot mouth on sensitive places, so he lights another joint and makes no complaint when Stiles moves lower, kissing and sucking his way lazily down Scott’s torso, scritching his nails softly over the hair on Scott’s belly. Stiles blows him lazily, sloppily, humming contentedly around the dick in his mouth, and Scott alternates his attention between the suction on his dick and pulling on the joint. When he comes it’s a weird continuum of sensation, stretching on and up and on forever, aftershocks sparking through him even as Stiles kisses his way back up Scott’s body, leaving one dark hickey right on top of his hipbone, marking the spot for later. 

Scott shivers and stubs out the joint, grabbing Stiles by the hips, suddenly _ravenous_ for him; they’d showered and fallen back into bed and now he wants all that clean sweat over him, wants to chase the taste of soap and skin down as much as he can, as much as Stiles will let him. Stiles grimaces a little, trying to get comfortable, then shifts back on his heels and Scott waits, patiently, nipping at Stiles cheeks and thighs where he can reach.

When Stiles finally settles, Scott strains _up_ and Stiles _shouts_ , one heel kicking as Scott licks into him with the flat of his tongue, pressing into him and getting him wet - Scott loves the noises he gets out of Stiles like this, loves his incapacity for silence. He wants to hear every groan and slurred “fuck, Scotty, FUCK” as he stabs his tongue mercilessly into Stiles’ hole, Scott’s whole world narrowed down to Stiles and the heady struggle to remember to breathe. 

Stiles gets a hand on himself and it’s not long before he’s shuddering and _clenching_ , curling down and letting out a sob as his breath hitches, clutching Scott’s hair tightly. Scott waits patiently for him to come down, riding out the shivers and licking him still, so tenderly, careful of how overstimulated he is. 

Time slows, honey-thick, and Scott has almost forgotten he needed to move when Stiles topples over to lie down next to him, and Scott can breathe again and it’s glorious and sweet. He fumbles for a wet wipe for his face and a tissue for the bed, and also comes up with the rest of the last joint, which he passes to Stiles, wrapping an arm around him and tugging him in close. They cuddle and trade hits, the cool air chilling their sweat until the blanket sounds good again, and then they curl up in it to wait out the rest of the rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More stoner bfs [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7987765/navigate) and [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8246920/navigate)


	8. Allison/Lydia, stoner gfs, M

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr [here](http://aweekofsaturdays.tumblr.com/post/140843388422/tw-au-in-which-allison-and-lydia-are-stoner%22) with a graphic :) Happy 4/20!

tw au in which allison and lydia are stoner girlfriends, and spend their afternoons kissing and smoking and making strange wall collages and discussing whether or not penguins experience love. 

everything is beautiful and strange and laughable, and they braid their hair together as they lie next to each other, feet entangled. the flowers from the garden are small and tear easily in their hands, but they make daisy chains and crown each other, laughing and falling over under the weight of each others’ arms. when they kiss, touching tongues so lightly, and dare to press closer, there isn’t anything that could ever interrupt them. 

they smoke bowl after bowl on the weekends and go swimming in lydia’s pool, relishing their weightlessness and slipping timid fingers under bathing suit bottoms. allison comes shivering, with the water lapping at her chin, gasping as she holds onto the side of the pool, and when she gets lydia out and onto the sun-warmed concrete, lydia tastes like warmth and chlorine and sunshine.

they eat endless amounts of peanut butter, and make lemonade so tart it makes their lips pucker, and they kiss with lips cold from the ice in their drinks and watch old movies late into the night. sometimes they even watch the sun some up, and they trade hits and kisses, never wondering for a second that there could be anything more perfect than this.


	9. Scott/Stiles + anxiety/depression + kissing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They just love each other so much u guys

When nothing is exactly wrong, Stiles finds himself on his bed or Scott’s bed or on the floor of someone’s living room without quite knowing how he got there. He can remember the mechanics of it but it’s like something in his head just goes on autopilot and he sort of lets everything happen around him, falls into the stream of it and lets it carry him forward. 

The firmness of the floor is soothing, sometimes, and Stiles feels his heels heavy against the solidness of it, his back slowly settling into alignment. Everything is too much sometimes and so he lets it tug him downward, following the trail of it idly.

Scott is really good at noticing when it’s happening; at listening when Stiles says, “Man, I don’t know,” and hearing “Scott, I don’t know about anything anymore.” 

Scott takes him to bed and drapes him in blankets and flops on top of him, knowing that Stiles feels comforted by it, Scott’s chest anchoring against Stiles’ back as they breathe together. 

Sometimes it passes in days, sometimes weeks; a few times it’s been months and more often it’s hours, strange moods flitting through like reminders of what could have been. Scott’s resilient, holds stiles close, accepts that here, he’s enough, they’re perfect in their corresponding bruises.

When it passes, as Stiles has forgotten it can, and as inevitably it always does, everything lightens; they kiss for hours as the sun goes down, cuddled close and warm, just kissing and kissing until they fall asleep.


	10. Allison/Lydia + play rough-housing + lingerie, T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> If you wanna talk about Allydia play rough-housing and trying to not damage lingerie while doing so, I'm all ears.

Lydia closes her eyes, relishing the pressure on her wrists and Allison’s weight on her thighs. The bed is soft underneath her and she squirms, tilting her chin back in the way she knows drives Allison crazy, but Allison smirks, sees right through her, and Lydia pouts. She’s rewarded with a roll of Allison’s eyes, a huffed breath, and a sharp nip at her collarbone, one wrist released so Allison can snap the strap of her pale pink bralette. 

The top is terrible for support but she’d put it on before Allison came over, reveling in the secret of it underneath her top, the little bows studding the fabric at the corners and the center; it’s gathered in the middle and she loves the way her breasts look in the mirror, soft curves and hints of her nipples through the sheer lace fabric. It takes Allison longer than expected to give up on homework and strip Lydia out of her top, but the look on her face when she saw what was underneath it was worth it. 

Lydia had moved to straddle Allison and Allison had stopped her, eyes dark and promising; Lydia didn’t usually see this side of Allison, ached to find out what brought it out, with them so new that every point in common they found was like lightning. She’d remember this one, could see her drawers overflowing with pale straps and dark lace to complement the bruises Allison would leave on her throat. 

Lydia moans as Allison grabs at her breasts roughly, pinching at her nipples through the fabric, and Allison presses Lydia’s wrists down into the mattress again when she tries to move, tries to get on top, tries to take the lead. 

Lydia struggles for a moment and goes limp when Allison noses up her neck and sucks a kiss underneath her ear, and she begs for a kiss with mouth open and bitten-red, suddenly desperate; Allison kisses her like it’ll never end, lets her weight bear Lydia down, and Lydia deliriously thinks that this plan worked better than she had ever expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr](http://aweekofsaturdays.tumblr.com/post/151572254752/if-you-wanna-talk-about-allydia-play-rough-housing)


	11. Cora/Lydia + bedsharing, T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mighty-alphalpha asked:  
> Cordia + having to share a bed for some reason?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pls handwave canon because I remember almost nothing about Cora + storyline continuity :)

They used to circle around each other like cats, slender and fierce and wary in their poise and their grace. It was difficult for them to see eye to eye, both with their own methods and biases, Cora more likely to charge into a fight, Lydia at the sidelines with head cocked and a frustrated, vengeful scream at exactly the right moment to tip the scales in their favor. 

Derek heals slowly this time around, stomach scored deeply from alpha claws; his bed is still in the middle of everything in the loft and he refuses to be babied, even as he concedes the point of needing to stay still to let his insides knit back together. Derek falls asleep finally and the pack finishes tending to their wounds, trickling out in pairs to find their ways home. 

Cora stays because, well, she lives there, and Lydia stays because this one was her fault, she didn’t get there in time and Derek took four claws the size of steak knives to the gut instead of the handshake with the rival pack that he’d expected. It haunts Lydia, sometimes, the way she sees them all so fragile on the border of life and death, how a moment too early or too late could be the end of them. She carries it alone, mostly, and it’s terrifying. 

So Derek sleeps and Lydia watches Derek and Cora watches Lydia. It doesn’t make much sense to Cora, why Lydia cares so much or why she stays, but it endears Lydia to her nonetheless. And of course she’s noticed Lydia, with her hair and her lips and eyes you could drown in, but this softness towards Derek is a different side of her and Cora likes it. 

It’s late and Lydia is literally just watching Derek sleep like a creeper, so Cora comes up next to her and slowly, carefully, brushes Lydia’s hair back off of her shoulder. Lydia watches her now, attention broken, eyes dark and lost. 

“Come on, you can share with me,” Cora says quietly, and though she expected at least a little resistance, Lydia comes easily, standing with a last glance at Derek and following Cora to her room.

Lydia takes a t-shirt and a pair of shorts hesitantly when offered, turning around to change. Cora doesn’t much care for modesty and slips off her own clothes, grimacing and dumping her jeans in the hallway so the smell of creatures dead and gone won’t keep her up. 

When she comes back in, Lydia’s watching her, hands fisted in the hem of her borrowed shirt, and Cora blushes, glad the lighting is dim. She throws on her own pjs and gets in bed, gesturing Lydia to crawl in beside her when it appears she’s waiting for an invitation. Lydia hesitates almost imperceptibly, but gets in and curls up close, closer than Cora would have expected, but it’s not unwelcome. 

Cora leans back to turn off the bedside lamp, and in the darkness it’s so easy for her to lay one careful hand on Lydia’s ribs, so gentle as to be almost just a caress. She’s bone-tired and honestly thinks she’s made a mistake when Lydia moves, but Lydia just shifts and turns over, reaching back for Cora’s arm and draping it over herself. Cora falls asleep with her face buried in hair that smells like smoke and gardenias; Lydia sighs drowsily and holds on, warmth all around her, following Cora into slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr.](http://aweekofsaturdays.tumblr.com/post/152317230662/cordia-having-to-share-a-bed-for-some-reason)


	12. Korrasami + hockey au, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shortlimbs asked:  
> femslash prompt: korrasami + ice hockey?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god I know nothing about Korrasami and have never watched the show but tumblr gave me [these gifs](http://aweekofsaturdays.tumblr.com/post/152317814847/femslash-prompt-korrasami-ice-hockey) when I searched “korrasami” so here u go. Bonus actual RL hockey players Hilary Knight and Briana Decker because The Boston Pride are my team and Korra would totally be Knighter’s winger. Also I’ve decided Korra’s hockey nickname is Whizz cuz she’s fast. I am not great at nicknames.

“Oh my GOD, that’s Asami Sato!!!!” Korra shrieked and ran out of the locker room in her underarmor to get a better look. “Holy SHIT, I can’t believe we got her in the trade!!”

Decks rolled her eyes and Knighter shrugged. 

“I mean, yeah, she’s talented, but isn’t she supposed to be kinda stuck up?” 

Korra glared at Hilary.

“She’s ONLY like the BEST PLAYER I’ve ever seen!!” Korra gushed. “Uh.. present company… excluded, I guess.”

“Gee, thanks Whizz,” Knighter retorted lightly. Decks just rolled her eyes some more. She should really stop doing that or her face is gonna get stuck like that, Korra thought to herself spitefully.

Suddenly, Asami turned around and raised one elegant eyebrow; Korra realized she was standing behind a plate glass window staring like an idiot while the press interviewed their newest forward. 

Korra grinned awkwardly (and probably not _entirely_ maniacally….oh god), then removed herself expediently from view. Awesome. Great first impression. 

It would be later noted (by the press and by two very amused Boston Pride players) that both Korra and Asami walked away blushing; and of course Knighter took great pride and joy in recounting the moment on the occasion of the pair’s anniversary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol this is so dorky XD


	13. Allison/Lydia + rainy mornings, E

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thatworldinverted asked:  
> Femslash prompts: Allydia, rainy days in bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [this gif omfg](http://aweekofsaturdays.tumblr.com/post/152529612327/femslash-prompts-allydia-rainy-days-in-bed-or)

It’s Sunday and everything is quiet and rainy, but the sun peeks through the clouds every now and again and it’s been one of those mornings where no one gets out of bed except for sustenance. Lydia loves their house, the freedom of it and the coziness of the space that belongs just to them. She had insisted on a specific placement for their bed so that the afternoon sun would slant across it, and she lounges in it now like a cat, panties slung low on her hips and eyes lazy with sleep. She drifts a little, knowing that there are things to do but that Sunday is no time in which to do them, and revels in the feel of the sun on her skin.

The rain had begun the night before and they’d lit candles to stave off the encroaching dark; sleepy cuddles had turned to long hair tangled in pale fingers and Lydia’s face pressed into her pillow as Allison fucked her with her favorite strap on. Of course they have their routines and the ways they usually shiver against each other and come undone when they just want to get off, but the rain had meant they weren’t going anywhere. Lydia had wanted the thick solidity of Allison’s cock inside her, wanted to feel the ache between her legs the next morning and relish the feeling of being possessed by someone who loved her. 

Lydia stretches and feels that ache now, the soreness of her muscles and the scratchiness in her throat from when she’d begged so loudly, pleading with Allison to let her come as she brought her to the edge again and again with cock and fingers and tongue. It had been worth the wait as she shuddered and came, finally, hips rolling up against Allison’s face as she cried out the last of her frustrated tears and shuddered her pleasure into the darkness. 

At some point she gets bored and goes to find Allison, because bed without Allison is less good than bed with Allison, even if bed at all is glorious on a lazy Sunday. She pads into the kitchen on soft feet, shivering a little in only her underwear, and finds Allison making pancakes, the smell of them in the pan as soft as their morning, crisp and toasty.   
She stops for a moment, breath caught in her throat, and it’s the most cliche thing but Allison’s hair is loose in dark waves over her shoulders, flannel shirt half-buttoned and boy-short panties dark against her pale skin, and Lydia cannot handle it. She crosses the kitchen and buries her face in Allison’s hair, breasts pressed to her back. Lydia breaths her in and sighs, sneaking a hand underneath Allison’s shirt to pet at her belly. 

They stand there together for a moment, Allison’s eyes closed, her free hand coming up to cover Lydia’s over the soft weave of the flannel. Allison smells so good and the pancakes are awkwardly shaped and a little messy, and Lydia’s heart lurches with how much she loves this girl, how much she wants to give of herself in a way she’s never wanted to before. 

Her hand inches downwards and Allison cranes her neck to side-eye her, half-smiling, but that just means that Lydia gets to see her eyes roll up and close when Lydia scratches her nails through the dark hair under her panties, watch her mouth open on a moan when Lydia slips a finger between her lips and strokes at her clit.

Lydia gets Allison off right there in the kitchen, rubbing at her mercilessly until Allison’s desperate and squirming and crying out, clutching at the counter for balance as she shakes out her orgasm. 

Allison catches her breath and then leans back again to kiss Lydia softly, mouth open and wet, and Lydia’s fingers are so wet but she leaves them where they are, idly playing and pressing her finger in further, wondering if she can tempt Allison to leave breakfast for at least a few more minutes, and come back to bed. She sighs disappointedly when Allison moves away. 

Ever-responsible Allison slides the miraculously unburned pancakes out of the pan onto a foil-covered plate and turns off the stove. She stops for a moment, checking to make sure everything is put away that needs to be, and suddenly grabs at Lydia with a grin, sliding her hands around to her ass and lifting as Lydia shrieks with laughter. Allison can only carry her for a few steps but they make it to the kitchen wall and Lydia loves the jolt of the wall at her back, leans down to kiss Allison thoroughly, possessively. 

They do make it back to bed, and eventually the pancakes reheat perfectly once they’re both sticky and satisfied. They eat in bed while the rain patters on, insulating them from the world outside with its demands, and in their house is the perfect morning quiet, pierced only by the sounds of their voices as they remind themselves again why life is good on Sunday mornings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr](http://aweekofsaturdays.tumblr.com/post/152529612327/femslash-prompts-allydia-rainy-days-in-bed-or)


	14. Allison/Lydia + boxing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just felt like writing these two loving each other some more.

The mitts are rough on the inside, catching on new callouses as Lydia holds them, fielding Allison’s jabs as they practice. She counts off the drills, one-two, one-two, one-two-three-four, and watches the determination in Allison’s eyes, does her best to be solid and steady to catch each punch. They usually switch every so often but this morning Allison has murder in her eyes and frustration in every line of her body so Lydia spots her, murmurs a reminder here and there to correct her form as they circle each other. 

Allison’s hair is starting to come out of its ponytail when she finally stops, exhaustion replacing fury in her stance and in her expression. She ineffectually swipes at the sweat pouring down her face with one gloved hand and looks like she’s going to push herself through another one, but Lydia presses down on one of her shoulders, guiding her to the mat so she can stretch. Fatigue turns to relief on Allison’s face as she works through her routine, and Lydia watches, solicitous as always.

Lydia takes off the mitts slowly, rubbing at her palms where the seams have rubbed her a little raw, and Allison looks up, noting the movement with sharp eyes. She always notices, and Lydia loves it. 

Allison winces at the lines criss-crossing Lydia’s fair skin but says nothing, dark eyes a little sorry. She takes one of Lydia’s hands and leaves a kiss in the palm, brings it to her own cheek tenderly. 

“Thanks,” she says, a little ruefully. 

“No problem.” Lydia’s glad to give Allison this respite, here where she’s in control, here where Lydia can keep her safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr](http://aweekofsaturdays.tumblr.com/post/152773922787/the-mitts-are-rough-on-the-inside-catching-on-new)


	15. Malia/Kira + the elephant in the room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sleepy-skittles prompted: malira + elephant in the room, not!fic

Hmmm see for this I’d write something long, something diverging from about Season 4 - Malia and Stiles have their thing together and it’s intense but it fades as Stiles and Scott get closer. Kira loves how Scott is so gentle with her but she keeps remembering dancing with Malia in Mexico, the way their hips moved in sync and the way Malia rolled her eyes at the gross guys trying to grind up on Kira and pulled her closer, firmly. 

I’d write them going out together after school, going for pizza or sushi when it’s late afternoon and everyone else has begged off for homework. They’d huddle together over tables, and Kira haltingly explains to Malia the intricacies of being human, of being a girl, and Malia often stops her and asks incredulous questions. Kira unlearns some of the pain that comes with being raised a girl, and Malia figures out a little more how to be one in ways that mean something to her, and how to love one. When they go to the movies for the first time Kira holds Malia’s hand all the way through it, brave in her own way. 

The first time they kiss is a few weeks before graduation, when Malia finds Kira first to show her an assignment she got full points on, and Kira’s so proud that she kisses her, holds the ends of Malia’s short hair in her hands and kisses her and kisses her and it feels so familiar and so new all at once. 

That summer they learn the ins and outs of each other, lying together in the woods or on Kira’s bed and talking for hours, or just lying there silent, always touching. They work up to sex, in little increments, both of them desperate and also cautious, so unknown is this territory that they’re crossing into. 

The fic that I’d write ends on a hopeful note, moving in together or something like that, fighting and arguing and Malia spanking Kira over her knee and Kira holding Malia when she needs it and they just have each other, together against everything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr](http://aweekofsaturdays.tumblr.com/post/153206023682/malira-elephant-in-the-room)


	16. Scott/Stiles + (pre-)stoner bfs move to LA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> queerlyalex asked: Stoner Sciles + Sunsets and Car Crashes (not!fic)

OK so obviously this is post-college Skittles, they get a place together in LA in Venice and they live in each others’ pockets. So here’s where we have two options:

The first option is they’re just friends, figure they both could use some sunshine now that Derek and Cora are back in Beacon Hills, holding down the fort and rebuilding the pack. So they move south, within half a day’s drive but far enough to get some space, and they get their place and do dumb bro stuff together and smoke each other out anytime they get weed. 

Stiles gets a medical prescription (”although dude California’s totally gonna vote it legal this year, just wait and see”), and it makes things easier, and Scott gets a job at a bar which makes everything easier. They skate at the park and they look at each other when the other one isn’t looking and they just want and it takes them a while to figure it out but of course they do and they kiss under the sunset at the Santa Monica Pier, smoking a joint and walking home hand in hand. 

The second option is that they’re already together, and they kiss for hours in the mornings on the rare occasion that it rains. They eat way too much bacon and drink too much shitty beer, and they go to shows and hold hands and kiss up against dirty alley walls because they could drown in each other happily and never regret it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr](http://aweekofsaturdays.tumblr.com/post/153207057722/stoner-sciles-sunsets-and-car-crashes-this-is-a)


	17. Max/Anne + rock band au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lena221b posted [this](https://lena221b.tumblr.com/post/153207102495/sooo-i-dreamt-about-max-from-black-sails-she-was) and I had feelings. I'm gonna turn this into a long thing at some point probably.

Imagine Max, eyelinered and fishnetted, slinking onstage at a tiny underground club– she growls into the microphone and her guitarist flips her hair and her drummer has these gorgeous sculpted shoulders. People come from all around to see Max, whisper their secrets to her after their sets, ask her to hold them for a while and she just smiles, cat who got the canary anytime she catches another one. 

Imagine Anne, skinny punk girl with her skinny punk boyfriend, getting dragged to one of these shows, bitching the whole time. Imagine Anne seeing Max come out on stage and feeling the vibrations from the huge, heavy amps through the bottoms of her shoes and Anne is just FLOORED. Jack sees it of course, with his calculating eyes, figures it’s better to have part of Anne than none at all. 

Imagine Max and Anne, kissing in the courtyard out behind the bar, and Max holds Anne’s slim jaw in one hand and kisses her like she’s stealing something, and gives it back slowly, intoxicated and intoxicating. Both leave with bruised mouths and hearts on fire, clothes mussed and Max’s personal number scrawled on Anne’s forearm in messy Sharpie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr](http://aweekofsaturdays.tumblr.com/post/153207439347/lena221b-sooo-i-dreamt-about-max-from-black)


	18. Scott/Stiles, stoner bfs 10 + brunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had an urge for brunch and punk rock diners.

They’re lucky and they know it if a show gets out early enough for them to have time go to Sam’s before it closes. They drive over covered in other people’s sweat, and scratches from metal studs and flailing hands. They laugh as they tumble out of Roscoe in the parking lot, slinking in through the door to their usual table. High on endorphins and teenage idiot bliss and about an entire gram of weed, nothing sounds better in the world than a fucking enormous stack of pancakes. 

Stiles gets a reasonable amount of bacon to go with, and Scott gets an unreasonable amount of bacon, shoveling it into his mouth and grinning at Stiles with chewed up bits in his teeth. Stiles rolls his eyes and drums his hands on the table and pours an ocean of syrup over his pancakes, crumbling his extra-crispy bacon in chunks over it. He shoves a gigantic mouthful in his mouth, looking up at Scott like a deer in the headlights when Scott starts to laugh. Scott just loses it with affection and amusement, still laughing, reaching forward to scritch lazy fingers over Stiles’ newly-shaven scalp and enjoying the way Stiles’ eyes close in bliss. 

They snarf their food down and tangle their feet together under the table, staring out at the night and every so often their silence dissolves into “Oh my god but remember–?” and “Holy shit that was fuckin’ DOPE” and they grab for each other’s hands across the sticky tabletop, remembering the feel of the music in their bones. 

They dump their pooled cash on the check when their surly waitress drops it off, and roll out to the parking lot. Of course Scott says something about how they eat their pancakes so differently, and Stiles wonders if Scott’s and his mouths taste the same, and in the middle of an admittedly impressive stoner treatise on how their taste buds would technically be tasting each OTHER’s tastebuds, Scott pushes Stiles back against Roscoe and kisses him, mumbles something about empirical evidence and proceeds to deepen it against Stiles’ half-hearted protests. Stiles shuts up quickly though, mouth opening slow and soft and drugged and Scott just licks in deeper, uses his big hands to smooth over the hard-soft prickle at the base of Stiles’ skull. 

For a moment, the world disappears and it’s just this for both of them, in the middle of the parking lot, hands soft and sticky lips and chilly night air. Stiles notices the oddity of his eyelashes against Scott’s cheek, and wonders if it counts as a bonus butterfly kiss, and Scott just breathes, inhales their scents, so similar already, and huffs out a contented sigh. Their hips press together, just a little, just enough to pretend that they’re still hanging onto propriety, but the friction is a tease as opposed to a relief and Scott presses closer, he’s always the one who presses closer. Stiles sighs and relaxes, and Scott nuzzles his neck, and they break into giggles, two idiot boys with eyes half-lidded and hands plucking awkwardly at tented jeans. 

They get in the car and Scott keeps his hand on Stiles’ leg the whole way home, and Stiles talks and talks and talks and Scott argues and they spend the whole night pretty much just arguing and shutting each other up with kisses (and other things), falling asleep only when the sun begins to peek over the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr](http://aweekofsaturdays.tumblr.com/post/153415968827/im-having-an-urge-for-brunch-and-punk-rock-diners)


	19. Peter/Neal (implied OT3) + Peter knows how to handle Neal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I caught a White Collar marathon on TV last weekend, so here is some Peter/Neal (implied OT3 because I love Elizabeth so!! much!!), altered scene 1 from episode 2x10. 
> 
> Set right after Mozzie got shot by Julian Larson.

Neal usually plans so carefully, every move in place ahead of time, but Fowler has a way of gumming it all up, throwing a wrench in the works. If only he could have stopped to think, taken his time, but it was too urgent and too much, the thought of tracking down Kate’s killer and making him pay. They’d stolen the ace up his sleeve while he was busy looking the other way.

So now he waits, hovers by Mozzie’s hospital bed, listening to the slow, inexorable whoosh of the respirator and matching his breathing with it unconsciously. He gazes out the window but he’s blind, running over and over again in his head how everything looked when they found Mozzie. A cup with a single chamomile teabag (for show, Mozzie would never drink anything someone else made for him, was he waiting for someone?). A patterned shirt soaked through with blood (when did he get that shirt? Neil didn’t recognize it). Neal’s hands shaking as he tried to press his heart steady inside himself (Mozzie, Mozzie, Mozzie).

Neil rubs his eyes now and waits, for what he doesn’t know. For Mozzie to wake up, maybe, or for someone to come and tell him what he’s supposed to be doing. The knowledge that he should have been there chafes more every time it happens, every time he realizes again that he isn’t alone, isn’t an island, has chains that hurt when they’re rattled.

He doesn’t turn when Peter comes in. He knows Peter, knows the look on his face already, and Neil doesn’t want to be treated like something delicate with one of his vulnerabilities exposed to light, so he doesn’t turn around.

“We need to go,” Peter says, broad-shouldered and soft-eyed, “there’s something you can do out there.” Neil suddenly hates himself and everyone in the room because somehow that “we” has become important to him, and he hates the hold it has on him, how powerless he feels at this moment.

Peter steps closer, slides one big hand up Neal’s shoulder to turn him away from the window. He’s gentle but firm and his eyes are dark when he looks at Neal. I’m glad it wasn’t you, he doesn’t say, and he holds Neal’s elbow loosely, just looking and letting the moment between them stretch out like honey, crystallizing in the dim light.

Neal’s expression is so lost, broken wide open, and he asks Peter like reaching for a lifeline, “What can we do?”

Peter steps closer, hesitant in the newness of this thing between them but certain in his own way. He gives Neal time to move away as he leans in, eyes open, and kisses him softly, thoroughly. They breathe each other in, Neal’s expensive cologne and Peter’s coffee-soap smell, the only points of contact their mouths and the heat of Peter’s hand on Neal’s arm.

Neal still looks shaken when Peter draws back, but his eyes are clearer and he looks resolved, reminded that he’s allowed to protect the things he loves instead of giving them up for lost. He half-smiles and looks at Mozzie on the bed, and he seems achingly, impossibly young in that moment. Peter lets go of his arm, and clears his throat.

“Come on,” he says. “We have work to do.”


End file.
